


The Swing of Things

by adrianna_m_scovill



Series: Barson Playroom Series [2]
Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Praise Kink, Sex Swing, Smut, Trust, Vaginal Fingering, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:28:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23176228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrianna_m_scovill/pseuds/adrianna_m_scovill
Summary: Part two of the Playroom/kink series. They're just starting to get the hang of it.
Relationships: Rafael Barba & Olivia Benson, Rafael Barba/Olivia Benson
Series: Barson Playroom Series [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1666033
Comments: 13
Kudos: 67





	The Swing of Things

“How is it?” she asked, fidgeting with the belt of her bathrobe. She was doing her best to keep her eyes from roaming, not because she didn’t want to look but because she didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. Completely naked and perched in the swing, with his feet in the stirrups and his hands fisted around the grips as he got his bearings, there really was no way for him to hide anything from her.

“Not bad,” he said, shifting his weight a bit. “It’s pretty comfortable, actually.” He was watching her face, noting the way she was keeping her eyes above his waist. “It’s easy to get in and out.” The swings were both the same kind—unisex, and adjustable so they could be raised or lowered. There was ample support beneath his hips, and he’d had no difficulty getting himself onto the seat and his feet into the stirrups without help.

“Well…you look good in it,” she said quietly, cursing the heat in her cheeks. She wasn’t even naked, why was she the one flushed with embarrassment?

He smiled. There was a hint of color in his cheeks, she realized, although it wasn’t embarrassment. “Thank you,” he said, sounding both amused and pleased. “You want me to do anything while I’m up here?”

She glanced down his body; she couldn’t help it. He wasn’t fully-hard, but he wasn’t as soft as he’d been before climbing into the swing, and she felt a hot flush of desire that nearly stole her breath. She’d meant what she said: he looked good. But it was more than that. He was completely open to her. She knew that he had trust issues that ran as deeply as her own, and yet he hadn’t hesitated to shed every defense.

“If I’m making you uncomfortable, I’ll get down,” he said, starting to draw one foot from its hold.

“No,” she answered a little too quickly, and his lips quirked in amusement. His eyes held concern, though. “I’m not uncomfortable,” she said. “I just don’t want you to feel…awkward.”

“Because my ass is in the air and all my bits and pieces are flapping in the breeze?” he asked, laughing at the look she shot him.

“I’d hardly call them _bits_ ,” she said with a pointed glance toward his lap. He grinned. “But don’t you feel a little…I don’t know. Exposed?”

He laughed. “Liv, I’ve never felt more exposed in my life.” He cocked an eyebrow. “In more ways than one,” he added, and she felt a shiver race down her spine.

She stepped a little closer, watching his face for signs of apprehension. “You’re okay with that?”

“No one’s looking but you.”

She swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat. “I mean being vulnerable…”

He let go of one of the grips and held his hand toward her, and she walked up to his side. She bent down to meet his lips for a kiss, relishing the soft caress of his fingers slipping into her hair. She settled a tentative hand onto his chest. “No one’s looking but you,” he repeated in a murmur against her lips. He pulled back a little to meet her eyes. “We don’t have to do anything in this room, Liv. We can go upstairs. We can make our way back to the motel. If the roads open, we can head—”

“You like it here,” she said. “I mean, you like the idea of trying these things…”

“I like the idea of trying things, with _you_ ,” he corrected gently, stroking his thumb over her cheek. “If and when, and _what_ you want.”

She hesitated, glancing down his body again. “Anything I want?”

He smiled. “Anything you want.”

She chewed the inside of her lip for a moment. “What if I wanted to…watch you?”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Watch me do _what_?” he asked, but in spite of the teasing look on his face, his voice was soft.

“You know what, and I’m not going to say it.”

He chuckled at her haughty tone because it was so unlike her. He tucked her hair behind her ear and said, “I have never in my life—” He stopped himself from crudity at the last second, amending: “—done that with someone watching.”

“I’ve never watched someone,” she admitted quietly, fingering the curls of hair on his chest. “And I never wanted to. But…” She searched his face, drawing courage from the lack of judgement in his expression. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Barba, but you’re not bad to look at.”

He laughed with a touch of embarrassment, now. “Well, Captain Benson, how could I possibly—”

“In fact, you’re beautiful.”

He paused, swallowing before finishing in a quieter voice, “—take that the wrong way.” He cleared his throat. His cheeks were flushed dark above his beard, now, and the color was spreading down from his throat.

“You are, Rafael, you’re beautiful. Not just physically, either, although it’s hard to think about anything else right now when your…”

“Bits and pieces are flapping,” he supplied.

“Right,” she said with an indulgent roll of her eyes. “So I’d like to look at you. And I think you like me looking.”

“I like that you like looking,” he said with an impish smile.

She glanced at his erection and leaned forward, letting her lips hover an inch above his. “I can tell.”

“Call me beautiful a few more times and I’ll be ready for a cigarette.”

“You don’t smoke.”

“Figure of speech.”

“Really like those compliments, don’t you,” she said, her lips almost grazing his.

“I really like you,” he answered, holding her stare.

“Mmm,” she said, smiling as she brushed her lips against his. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he agreed. He leaned up to kiss her again. “Can I look at you? While I…” He raised his eyebrows.

With a small laugh, she said, “If you want.”

“There’s not a moment in any given day that I don’t want to look at you,” he said, grinning at her exasperated sigh. “What, you can give compliments but I can’t?” he teased.

“You can,” she allowed, kissing him again and letting her lips linger for a few moments. “I’m just not very good at accepting them. But I’ll work on it.”

“You know I would never lie to you.”

“I know.” She straightened and took half a step back so she could look him over. “Are you still comfortable?”

“Yes. What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to do whatever you want to do,” she said with a smile.

“Hmm.” He put his hand on his stomach and tapped his fingers for a few seconds. “That’s magnanimous of you. I might need lube, I’m not as young as I used to be.”

“More prone to chafing?” she asked, shooting him an amused look as she walked over to grab an unopened bottle of lubrication from the cabinet.

“Alas,” he lamented dramatically, “gone are the days of jerking off into socks.”

“You’ve… _outgrown_ _them_?” she asked, glancing suggestively toward his cock and grinning when it twitched in response.

He threw his head back to laugh, and she felt a jolt of desire that made her belly tighten. He hadn’t even started the show yet and she was surprisingly wet; she could feel it beginning to trickle down her thighs inside the bathrobe, and she felt a moment’s embarrassment. It faded quickly, though, because she knew that nothing would make him happier than knowing how much she wanted him. It was a shame that her arousal wasn’t as obvious as his, that he couldn’t delight in her desire the same way she was able to enjoy his.

She crossed to him slowly, lube in hand. “Want to know a secret?” she asked quietly. She pulled the loose knot of her belt and let her robe spill open. His gaze raked down her naked body and he swallowed hard, his fist tightening around the handle above his shoulder. He’d already known she wasn’t wearing anything beneath the robe, though.

Instead of giving him the lube, she circled her other hand around his wrist and pulled his arm toward her. He slipped his fingers between her legs without hesitation and made a pleased sound when he found her slick folds, wet and hot and so sensitive that her thighs tightened instinctively around his hand.

She bent down to meet his eager kiss, more than happy to let him finger her for half a minute while she explored his mouth. From the corner of her eye, she saw him reach down with his other hand to give himself a few dry strokes, and she pulled away from him reluctantly. Her body cursed her for the loss of his touch, but she gathered her willpower and took a small step back.

“Just thought you should know what looking at you does to me,” she said.

He switched hands, slowly and deliberately coating his erection with her wetness, and she couldn’t breathe for several seconds. Her clit throbbed, begging for attention, but she didn’t dare touch herself yet. She held up the bottle of lube.

“I don’t need it anymore,” he said with a smirk.

“I don’t think that’ll last long,” she answered, unable to put into words exactly how much that move had affected her.

“Neither will I,” he said, and she couldn’t help but smile. “Unless you want me to,” he added. He was stroking himself slowly, almost absently, all of his focus on her, and his words from a few minutes earlier— _anything you want_ —suddenly hit her with their full weight.

He really was willing to do anything she wanted, anything to make her happy. The only thing he’d asked in return was to be able to look at her. He hadn’t even asked her to remove her bathrobe.

She glanced over her shoulder at the other swing. They could be turned, but they were rigged facing each other—presumably to make it easier for a person standing between to switch from one partner to another, although she shoved that thought away. She didn’t want to think about threesomes or orgies or any of the people who’d used this room before. Now, it was only her and Barba, and his other words echoed in her mind: _no one’s looking but you._

If she got into that swing, her feet would be pointing toward his. She would be spread open to him, unable to hide. They would have a perfect view of each other, but would be too far away to touch. She _wanted_ to touch and be touched, but she had to admit there was also allure in the frustration, the _forbiddenness_ of being allowed only to watch each other.

She’d also meant what she said about not liking the idea of being restrained. She trusted Barba implicitly, but some scars ran bone-deep, and she didn’t want to risk having an intimate moment ruined by intrusive thoughts and lingering trauma. She couldn’t guarantee to herself, or to him, that in the heat of the moment her brain wouldn’t play tricks on her, that his touch wouldn’t remind her of another that she didn’t want to remember.

But he’d gotten himself into his swing, and she could do the same. There would be no one near enough to touch her, and she could get down any time she chose. And she would be giving him something he’d already given her, something he wouldn’t ask of her no matter how much he might want it.

All of these thoughts crossed her mind in a matter of moments, but when she looked back at Barba and met his eyes, she knew he could read her. They’d always been able to read each other from the moment they met, and she’d never realized how much she’d taken that for granted until he was gone from her daily life.

She walked over to double-check that the door was locked, even though she knew it was. Barba didn’t say anything as he watched her slip off her robe and set it on top of a cabinet. He didn’t remind her that she didn’t have to do anything that made her uncomfortable, because they both knew it already.

She hesitated at the swing, painfully aware of her nakedness; he’d already seen her naked, of course, and explored her body with his eyes and hands and mouth, but that had been up close, in bed, in the pale and forgiving glow of a lamp. Here, she was exposed not just by space but the bright overhead lighting, and she knew that the sight of her scars would hurt him. In his own way, he’d had to survive William Lewis, too—all of her loved ones had suffered under the knowledge of what she’d endured, even as partial and fragmented as their knowledge might be.

“Do you want me to look away?” he asked.

He’d always been able to read her.

“I like you looking at me,” she said quietly, and it was true. Despite her insecurities, his gaze always made her feel beautiful and appreciated and respected. She smiled at him. “There’re a lot of things I think I’d like to do to you in that swing. You want to put one up in your apartment?”

“Do _to_ me?” he asked, not sounding remotely concerned by her choice of words.

“Sorry,” she said, smiling sweetly, “did I say ‘to?’ I meant _with_ you.” She pulled herself up into the seat and wiggled into a comfortable position. The room was warm, but the air felt cool against her flushed skin.

He laughed, shifting a bit and making his swing rock in the air. “I want you to get home, but will you hate me if I admit I sort of want to be snowed in here another night?”

“I could never hate you, Barba,” she said. She considered for a few seconds. “It’s funny that we left the motel because it would’ve been awkward sharing a bed.”

“Is that why we left?” he asked, grinning at her dirty look.

She put her left foot into the padded stirrup and hesitated only a moment before mirroring the action with her right foot. The air felt even cooler against her wet, sensitive skin, making her tighten instinctively.

His grin was gone. “Holy Christ, Liv,” he breathed. She didn’t miss the way his hand tightened around his erection.

It was a strange thing, feeling completely exposed and vulnerable but simultaneously powerful. “Anything you want me to do while I’m up here?” she asked, smiling at his breathless laugh.

His hand started moving slowly, almost cautiously, and she reached down to touch herself—as much to reassure him as to quell the ache between her legs. She ran her middle finger over her clit, watching his eyes focus on the movement.

She shifted her feet against the stirrups and the swing rocked in the air. “You’re right, it’s not bad,” she said. She’d never been in anything similar, but she knew there was a wide range of options. She was glad that whoever had installed these seemed to have taken comfort into consideration as much as practicality. She shivered at the thought of what it would be like to have Barba standing between her spread legs instead of hanging several feet away, to feel him entering her as her momentum brought her swinging down…

She slipped two fingers into herself, watching the way he gave his wrist a little twist on each upstroke. She thought about what it would be like to stand between _his_ legs as he swung gently through the air. As though he’d read her mind, he slid his other hand between his legs and rubbed his fingers over his hole, poking lightly at the ring of muscle. She looked up and met his eyes.

“Being stuck here one more night wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world,” she said, and he grinned. She let out a slow breath and adjusted her shoulders, running her thumb over her clit as she fingered herself. “Been awhile since I’ve done this,” she admitted. She noted the way he was massaging beneath his balls while he continued to stroke himself.

“Yeah?” There was a hint of strain in his voice, and she increased the tempo of her fingers. “I’d make an inappropriate comment like ‘except in my dreams’ but I don’t want to ruin the mood.”

She laughed, shifting her hips and swinging gently through the air. “Right, best to keep that thought to yourself,” she agreed. He was swiping his thumb over his wet tip with every stroke, now, and the fingers of his left hand were rubbing hard and fast at his perineum. He grinned at her, but she could tell by the heavy rise and fall of his chest that he was pushing himself rapidly toward the edge.

She pulled her slick fingers from her body, circling them over her aching clit, unable to keep a small sound from breaking in her throat. His rhythm faltered for a moment in response, and his swing swayed as he continued.

“What about you?” she asked breathlessly. She closed her eyes for a few seconds, pushing herself against her slick fingertips as the pressure built. Her thighs and hips were achy from the strain of being forced to keep her legs open, but her toes drew invisible circles in the air as she massaged herself harder, faster.

“Me? Mm.” He shifted again. She knew he was close and the mere thought was enough to make her throb with need. She lifted her left hand to cover one breast, pinching her hardened nipple between her thumb and forefinger. He groaned at the sight and his strokes slowed. “Sometimes in the shower,” he said.

“You ever think about me?” she asked before she could stop herself. She wasn’t thinking clearly. Her body was teetering on the edge of climax, and she was controlling the rhythm of her fingers to _keep_ herself on the edge. She wasn’t going to finish without him.

“Jesus,” he breathed. “I haven’t thought of anyone but you in years.”

“You use soap?” The bunch and flex of muscles in his forearm was hypnotic. She matched his speed, rubbing her clit in tight, fast circles, and she pushed against the stirrups and back brace hard enough to lift her hips into the air for a few seconds.

“Soap,” he repeated as though he didn’t quite recognize the word. He ran his tongue over his lip and she looked up to meet his eyes. She could see the sweat beaded on his forehead. “Um. Yes. It’s—”

“Slippery?”

“—efficient.”

“Not very romantic.”

He managed a laugh. “Romantic? No. My hand only buys me dinner because it has access to my credit card.”

She tipped her head back to laugh, her fingers briefly stilling. When she looked at him again, his hands had stopped and he had the base of his cock gripped tightly in his fist. “Maybe you’ll let me give you a hand next time.” She cast a pointed look at his erection as she started stroking herself again. “I wish you were inside me right now,” she said, amazed by her lack of self-consciousness. She never would’ve imagined she’d say something like that out loud while he stared back at her from several feet away.

He groaned, his fingers shifting slightly as he tightened his fist. “I wish I could kiss you right now,” he answered, and the response was so sweet that her breath caught. Her thighs trembled as her body tried in vain to clamp around her fingers.

“Next time,” she promised breathlessly. “Why’d you stop?” she asked, even though she knew the answer.

“Not finishing before you.”

She smiled. “Together,” she said. She didn’t have to tell him that meant _now_ , because he knew—by her breaths, by the unsteady rhythm of her fingers, by the way she rolled her nipple between her thumb and forefinger, by the way her stomach muscles rippled and clenched—that she was tumbling over the edge.

He moved his hand quickly, giving himself a few hard, rough jerks, and his swing rocked toward her as his back arched. He came with a low groan, painting his stomach and chest in pearly strands as his body shivered, and her own orgasm hit her harder than she expected. She convulsed in the confines of the swing, her muscles tightening and twisting as she stroked herself past the point she’d normally stop. He was breathing heavily, his loose fist moving slowly up and down his length as he watched her through half-lidded eyes.

She let out a shaky breath as she finally sank back into the support of the swing, letting her body relax, and she closed her eyes for long moments as she listened to the roar of blood in her ears and felt the heavy thud of her heart in her chest.

She also heard the creak and groan of his swing as he eased himself out of the seat, and her stomach fluttered not with unease but anticipation. She opened her eyes in time to see him look down at himself with a grimace, but she thought the mess was beautiful. She hadn’t laid a finger on him, but it was still _hers_. He wiped his hand on his naked hip, and she laughed.

He looked up and met her stare, and smiled crookedly. “May I?” he asked, waiting for permission before walking slowly up to her side. “Can I help you down?” he murmured, his eyes searching hers.

She nodded. “In a minute,” she answered, tipping her face toward him for a kiss.


End file.
